


Nix

by Zeryx



Series: Pluto-Charon System [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: All of Dean's self-loathing, Angst and Porn, Canon-Compliant Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Talks Dirty, Dean is a sex addict, Dubious Consent, Gallows Humor, Heavy Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sassy Castiel, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny has died,  something has been sleeping inside Dean, and Castiel hurtles forward on an uneven trajectory.<br/>My take on what happened between Cas being found on the road and the following morning where he showed up showered at the bunker (coda fic between 8x21 and 8x22).</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> Castiel says, "Let me help you, Dean. Though I had my reasons, my friendship has been lacklustre as of late."</p><p> Dean's hands are clenched in the fabric of his jeans. He worries his lower lip with his teeth, stares off into the middle distance. "Yeah, no shit. You should've trusted me." <em>You should've been here by my side. I've been so alone, and everyone expects me to run the show, pick up the pieces.</em> "Trust me now and leave me alone."</p><p> "I can't do that, Dean. I will always follow you; however many times to Hell and back again, if I must."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nix

**Author's Note:**

> Look at that, guys. I wrote something that's canon-compliant. I'm just as surprised as you that I had it in me. As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta-reader [hit_the_books](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books). Additional massive thanks to [badwolfgodess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfgoddess) for giving me invaluable feedback on a very early draft and helping me with characterization.

 Dean helped Cas settle into the back of the Impala, then got in the front and resumed driving. _Because that's what I do, soldier on. Baby brothers and best friends nearly dying be damned._

 "What the shit, Cas? I mean seriously!"

 "Dean... I. I thought it best. Unfortunately, I was out-maneuvered in spectacular fashion."

 "So all this..." Dean waves one hand in the air, gesturing at Cas's beat-to-shit appearance, "is because you just decided to hare off on your own doing what _you_ thought was best, **again**?"

 "I am... very injured. Please, Dean. Let's set aside my failures for now, I need some good news. What is happening with the trials?"

 Dean grimaces, then looks over at Sam who is already dozing with his floppy mane of hair cushioning his head against the cold passenger side window.  
He lowers his voice to a near whisper. "Sammy is... he's not doing so good, Cas. He's been _off_ since he killed that hell-hound, sure. But ever since he went to Purgatory, Hell and back to get Bobby upstairs he's been a mess. Kid can't even shoot straight. Thought he'd got a bit better after a couple days, but..." the dark highway, the starless night, and the baleful full moon are all Dean has to draw his attention away from the broken centre line of the highway.

 Grimly, Castiel continues. "He has not."

 Dean shakes his head, clutches the steering wheel. "We met Metatron today."

 Cas's head snaps up and he leans forward a little; one hand on the back of the Impala's front bench, the other holding his stomach. "The scribe of God? He has not been seen for Millennia!"

 "We found him holed up at some dinky casino, surrounded by books. Not 100% sure but I think the son of a bitch is a weaselly douche-bag. He's more about "his stories" than a freakin' Hispanic grandma hooked on Telemundo."

 Cas raises an eyebrow in the Impala's rear view mirror.

 Dean snorts. "I know. Anyway, he said some crap about "resonance". Since Sam's been doing the trials, it created this weird feedback loop and it made the poor bastard loopy as fuck. He was like, remembering all this crap from when we were kids. Crap he had no business remembering. Had to literally put him on ice before the fever killed him. Well, at least we twisted weasel-face's arm until he finally saved Kevin."

 Cas nods, solemn. "Metatron's knowledge is vast. Surely, he would be a useful asset if one knows how to appeal to him."

 Dean nods, lips pressed together. "Yeah, well. I've never trusted anybody who had to be talked into doing the right thing." The Bunker comes into view and Dean sighs with relief. "Here's our stop."

 They pull into the garage and Dean lightly slaps Sam on the face a couple of times. "Wake up, sleeping beauty!"

 "Dean? What? Oh..." Sam rubs at his eyes and at the ear that was squashed against the window, blinks blearily and fumbles for the door-handle.

 "Yeah, oh. Bedtime for Bonzo, Sammy. Get your ass to bed. I gotta help Cas, he looks like the victim of a freakin' chest-burster."

  Sam nods and after this byplay Cas has already opened the back passenger-side door; is sitting half-out the car with his feet on the ground. The three are quiet, grim with tension and weariness as they make their way from the chill of the garage to the Bunker's interior. Dean's giant of a brother is as awkward and pathetic as a baby giraffe; all knees and elbows, barely able to keep his neck upright.

Dean takes it slow as Cas limps along, arm slung across the back of Dean's shoulders. He tries to jam all his feelings down until he can get some alcohol. Tries not to let on how hard it's hitting him that Cas has nearly died **again** , it makes him goddamn furious that their angel will not just stay by their side.

 Sam splits off to his room with a muttered "G'night".

 Dean deposits Cas on the bench in the shower-room, gets a bath going. "I'll be right back, ok? Try and get undressed and I'll help you in."

 Cas nods. "Thank-you."

 "Sure, whatever."

 Dean grabs towels, sweatpants and an old Pink Floyd t-shirt for Cas from his room. Brings it back to the shower-room and tries not to look at all the blood covering his friend's naked body. It's just not right. He looks like someone Dean put on the rack; he shoves down nausea as he gets an arm under Cas. "Easy does it, pal." Cas smells like the air after a lightning strike, of dried blood and sweat. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand on end and his skin feels tight and itchy in a way it hasn't in a long time. He lowers Cas —who is stiff with pain— into the steaming bath, watches the water swirl pink around his torso as he sinks in. Cas's eyes widen and darken to midnight blue as he groans in pleasure, then slip shut as he settles into the large tub.

 He doesn't know why he does it, but before Dean can think about it too closely, he's working soap into a wash-cloth and stroking it down Cas's face. "Keep your eyes closed, Cas," he says, gruffly. "Soap stings." Dean washes all the blood off of his friend's face, tries not to stare at his collarbones rising out of the water—stark juts of bone a sharp division between flesh and blood-dyed water. Focuses best he can and doesn't let his eyes linger on well-defined broad shoulders. Dean wrings out the washcloth—Cas's face made familiar and not terrible any longer—then tosses it in the corner.  
"It's all you now, champ!" Dean pats Cas on the shoulder and the wet slap of flesh is unexpectedly loud. Cas tilts his head to one side, owl-like with eyes narrowed as he stares at Dean's rapidly retreating form in confusion.

***

 Dean's in the war-room. He stares up at the floodlights ringing the map table; stares and stares into the overwhelming brightness until his eyes water. Looks away and picks up his bottle of Jack Daniel's again. Drinks a few lusty swallows, then rolls the rim of the bottle against his lower lip, over and over. He sprawls indolently in a chair with the two back legs tipped back, left leg hooked over one arm, right leg straight against the other arm so his foot rests on the next table over.

 He raises the bottle, tips it, swallows before he chokes; some whiskey overflows and trickles down past the corners of his lips, then his chin, to drip onto the knees of his jeans. He can drink as much as he wants, provided they don't have work. Benny couldn't. Benny never could. Dean couldn't even bear for him to drink (eat) in the car next to him. Couldn't take the sight of his friend (feeding) reminding Dean of what he was. Couldn't take the reminder of the foundation of their deepest bond: addiction. Just over a quarter of the bottle of J.D. is left before he registers Castiel standing in front of him.

 "So.... not a good time." Dean waves his bottle at Castiel. It hurts to chase his friend away when he just got him back, but Dean's feeling loose-limbed and his control is slipping. Cas is in front of him, looking a hell of a lot better. He snatches the bottle out of Dean's hand and takes a hearty swallow. Dean nearly loses his balance in surprise, puts both feet on the ground.

 "Dick!"

 "No, that was year before last. Crowley."

 "Cas, should you really be drinking with that, you know, _thing_ you got going on?"

 "If your query is regarding the rather sizable hole from where the angel tablet was forcibly removed, you are likely correct. It is of little concern. Consider it an antiseptic." Cas tips his head back to finish the bottle and a small trickle of amber liquid snakes a long trail down his exposed throat. Dean swallows thickly.

 "Sure, pal. Whatever." Dean gets up and grabs another bottle and returns to find Cas tracing the outlines of the boundaries of the middle-east on the antiquated map. _Weird_. Well, there are a lot of things they'll never understand about each-other. Dean watches, fascinated by how beautiful his friend's hands are. Cas's other hand is in a loose circle around the neck of the nearly empty bottle; the condensation causes him to adjust his grip to not drop it, a tight quick down and up slide of his fist. Dean's eyelids slip to half-mast as he pictures those long fingers around him and inside of him. He shakes his head rapidly, causing the room to blur and spin. His groan causes Castiel to look up at him and the singular attention, the laser focus of his gaze, causes a roaring in Dean's ears as his blood rushes south.

 "You can take the room two doors down from mine. Later." Dean walks to his room with an off-hand wave goodbye over his shoulder. He flops down onto his bed, presses up to the solid wood of the headboard, squeezes his eyes shut and chugs and chugs his whiskey. Cas is wearing so little. It'd be so easy to push down his sweatpants. So easy to push up his shirt, trap his arms in it behind him. Yeah his regular clothes were covered in blood, but why had Dean thought this was a good idea? He stops drinking for a moment, savours the burn down his throat. Fidgets where he lies with the small of his back shoved into a pillow and his fingers rapidly tap out the drum-beat to "Ramble On" against his thigh.

 He brings the bottle back up to his mouth and tries to drown out the knowledge that when Cas stole his bottle, he put his lips where Dean's had been seconds ago. His too-pink lips had rubbed against his saliva. Dean shoves the tip of his tongue down the neck of the bottle as far as it can go while his cheeks burn. He laps and sucks, teases the alcohol out in small trickles.  
_I'm losing it, I'm giving head to a goddamn **bottle**. I can't take this. Son of a bitch! Will there **ever** be a day when no one pisses me off and nobody I care about dies or almost frigging dies?_ The grief is like an anchor weighing Dean down and all he wants to do is fuck his problems away; get lost in the hypnotic rhythm of flesh slapping flesh. But he can't get away. Cas is hurt and God only knows what the hell is going on with Sammy; Dean doesn't dare be away for longer than a supply run.

 Cas has followed him. _Shit_.

 "Dean, you seem "off," I believe is the term." Castiel is moving to sit beside him and Dean pulls his legs out of the way automatically, one leg curled under him and the other touching the floor. Cas mirrors him, straddling the bed to face him. One hand rests on his leg, the other on Dean's shoulder, and _he's too fucking close_. The flush spreads from Dean's cheeks, up the back of his neck.

 "Ha. Yeah, no shit Cas." Dean rakes a hand through his hair, skin feeling too tight. "Sammy's one hokey-pokey short of putting it all in the grave, and now you show up beat to shit, angel tablet MIA, and _in my personal space_ , a-freakin'-gain."

 Cas just regards him steadily, one hand on Dean's shoulder, face scant inches from his own. "Dean, I wish to offer you comfort. Touching one's shoulder, is that not something friends do when one is distraught?"

 "It is… but. That's not what I need right now." Dean's eyes flicker to Cas's mouth.

 "Is it pie? Tell me what you need, and I will fulfill your request to the best of my ability."

 A small smile tugs at the corners of Dean's lip before they turn down, his expression dark. "Swell of you to offer, Cas. But what I want, you ain't got on offer." A trickle of sweat works its way down the back of Dean's neck and the hunger is on him. An unwanted intrusive thought flashes across his mind's eye:  
Cas's silent, rapt, predatory gaze never breaking eye contact as Dean bobs his head on his cock while those long slender fingers are buried in Dean's hair. Cas pumping those narrow hips as he fucks his face—emotionless, other—until he loses control, thrusts erratic, screaming in orgasm, flooding Dean's mouth with salt and musk.

 "Try me."

 Dean licks his lips. He tries to shove it down; push the image, the phantom sense-memory his mind has conjured away and _out_. But Cas is **right there** and he can't. He can't. Dean turns away, faces his desk. Tries to focus on the picture of him and his mom, on what family means to him. "I need to get laid, Cas. Really damn bad. I can't go anywhere and the only girl who knows about this place is kind of really gay. So... that ain't gonna work. Also, basically my little sister, and she just lost her mom to boot. So... not awesome." His eyes skitter away from the faded picture. He can’t focus, can’t seem to find a place to look.

 Cas's voice is rich, low and soothing close to Dean's ear. "I understand the human urge for recreational procreation when times are bleak. It is a natural evolutionary mechanism to ensure survival of the species when one is on the brink of death. But Dean, you are healthy. Your brain is flooded with an unusual chemical cocktail presently, but you are in good health."

 Dean is rigidly still, breaths coming shallowly as he slowly clenches and unclenches his fists. "Sure. I just watched a friend lose her damn mom for the second time. Didn't remind me of losing dad or when I got visited in the hospital by a reaper or anything. _Totally_ not thinking about lying in a damn hospital bed filled with tubes myself and DNR stamped on my form. It's not.... I need to blow off some steam, okay? In both meanings of the word."

 From the corner of his eye, Cas frowns. "I remember. It is good you are not thinking of those things, though if you are telling me about them, it seems that you must. Also, you are not powered by coal, Dean."

 "Damn straight! I'm powered by whiskey, self-loathing and hamburgers." Dean chuckles, ignoring the sweat beading his forehead.

 "Though that is distressing, I still fail to see what steam has to do with this."

 "Frustration, Cas. Energy. I.... I miss Purgatory, you know? I didn't have to deal with this crap there. And it was an all-you-could-kill monster buffet. I miss you and Benny having my back. I- I miss Benny." Dean's voice breaks, and he looks at Castiel over his shoulder.  
"He's dead, and before he died I left him up shit creek. He was struggling with not feeding off of people. Sam was strung out over some girl, and I left Benny to twist in the frigging wind. But when I needed him, that son of a bitch came. Without doubt, without hesitation... He wasn't mad. He was tired. I murdered him, Cas. I swung that machete straight for his head and he didn't even flinch."

 "Benny was infuriating. But I never doubted his loyalty to you. I am sure regardless of the circumstances, if he welcomed death it was only a matter of time. Perhaps he was glad it came by the hand of someone he cared for." Cas regards him steadily, gaze unwavering; it's a punch in the gut to see him close like Benny had been right after he'd hugged him for the last time. Just like right before—

 "He was the only person I'd call brother aside from you and Sam, the only goddamn person to understand this thing inside of me and I let him down." Dean's shoulders are shaking, and he's not going to cry, dammit. He has to hold it together. The thread of control he has left is stretched too taut as it is.

 Castiel scooches flush to him, legs pressing into his, puts his arm across Dean's shoulders and tugs his head to his chest. "Dean.... I am sure you had the best of reasons for why you did what you did. You always do the right thing."

 Dean laughs brokenly. "Sure, Cas, totally making the sound judgement calls here. Murdering friends, saving Sam, the mother-fucking family business. It's all a sick joke, ok?" Dean is shaking in Castiel's embrace, helpless as more words tumble from his lips. "What's really sick is that my dick has been rock-hard this entire time, and all I want is to rut into you until it goes away."

 Cas sucks in a breath. " _Dean_...."

 "I know, Cas. I know I'm messed up. I know you don't want to hear this."

 Castiel grips Dean tighter, hand clenched in the fabric of Dean's shirt as he rests his chin on top of his head. "It's alright. I was there when the tower of Babel fell. There is very little that is new to me."

 " _ **Everything**_ is new to you, Cas. Christ." Dean shoves the angel away, and feels slightly guilty at the wince Cas evinces as his stomach wound is jostled.

 "Let me help you, Dean. Though I had my reasons, my friendship has been lacklustre as of late."

 Dean's hands are clenched in the fabric of his jeans. He worries his lower lip with his teeth, stares off into the middle distance. "Yeah, no shit. You should've trusted me." _You should've been here by my side. I've been so alone, and everyone expects me to run the show, pick up the pieces._ "Trust me now and leave me alone."

 "I can't do that. I will always follow you; however many times to Hell and back again, if I must."

 Dean digs his nails into his thighs, groans. His skin is buzzing faintly, crying out for touch. For comfort he has never really had, not even during his time with Lisa. She and Ben had thought he was just a garden-variety loser who'd lost his brother and was torn up over that; they were totally in the dark about all the awful shitty parts of him.

 Once in a while, his heart would start pounding and his hands would seize into fists as his blood boiled and adrenaline rocketed through his body for no discernable reason. The thoughts about sex would come: set off by small things, innocuous things, or nothing at all. Things he had done and things others had done to him, both in Hell and on Earth. Sometimes he had to lean over a counter, or stay in his truck, or sit on the toilet while his stomach roiled until the feeling passed. He'd clutched white-knuckled—the steering wheel, the countertop, the toilet bowl—until his out of the blue erection had flagged and his blood had stopped being on fire.

 But things had been okay, they really had. For a time, playing husband and father had worked. The looping images, phantom sensations, scents and sounds became easier to stop. The intrusive thoughts came less and less often. Having intimacy and affection be something he was freely given, instead of being something he earned as a by-product of sex, had reduced his addiction from blaring klaxon levels to background noise in his life.

 But it's been years. His addiction has gotten its hoary hooks sunk deep within again and it's ripping him apart. He needs to give up control. Needs to lose himself. Needs the confidence and lack of awareness of all his fucked up shit that going under brings. He wants out of his skin, his guilt, his misery. To be lost in the simple push and pull of flesh on flesh. He needs and he wants, and Cas is right there, and none of this is fair.

 Cas's hand presses to the back of his neck, squeezing gently. "Dean... please."

 It makes Dean shudder in arousal. "Cas I… I… I'm not a nice man. Don't ask me to do this. Not to you." Dean squeezes his eyes shut, stares at nothingness. He pulls away from Cas, stands up despite his weak knees and trembling. The dual memories of the first time he picked up Alastair's knife and the first time he got on his knees for another man overlap, superimposing themselves, dancing across his eyelids. The sweet rush that accompanied the pursuit of wringing out cries, breaking someone down, taking them apart: the thrill was one and the same.

 "Dean, I raised you from the pit; put you back together atom by atom. You really think this beyond my ken?"

 Cas _knows_. He'd pulled Dean free from puddled tattered remnants of souls. Right in the middle of the maiming, slicing, burning, disfiguring, raping and reveling in it and put him back together—just as he was—despite it.  
The angel had questioned his faith, rebelled, and gave up everything for Dean, time and again. Gave him a loyalty he didn't deserve, didn't understand and could never repay. For his sins, Cas is laying himself at the altar of Dean's depravity as on offering. Dean squirms, rolls his shoulders, jogs his knee. His skin is too tight, too small; it aches to be surrounded by another body.

 He licks his lips and then looks down at Castiel where the angel is gazing up at him, small smile lop-sided as usual, full of affection and compassion. Something twists in Dean's heart. "You don't... you don't know this me, Cas." He looks directly into Castiel's eyes, hoping his friend can see how fucking torn up he is over this.  
"Cas, you're my friend... my best friend. I don't want to... I don't want to screw this up, too."

 Cas's voice is gentle."Then don't."

 "You don't.... you don't get it." Dean swallows thickly, his skin crawling. "I'm a thing that feeds off of people, just like Benny."

 "I highly doubt that, Dean. You are the best man I know." His stare is intense, and Dean can't break it.

 "Purgatory set us both free of a horrible fucking hunger. In Purgatory, the blood flowed and washed me clean. I chew people up worse than a goddamn wood-chipper!" Dean's fingers are white-knuckled in his jeans, fingers digging into the palms from the other side of the fabric. His chest is heaving, breathing shallow.  
His voice drops to a low harsh whisper. "You... I don't want to feed this thing, not with you. I can't... it won't... things just won't be the same, alright?" Dean looks away, rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

 Castiel bolts up off the bed, moves into Dean's personal space. Puts his hands on Dean's shoulders and wills him to look at his face. "I don't want things to stay the **same**. I want you to let me help you."  
Cas stares straight into his eyes, hits him full force with compassion and sincerity: "Let me love you, Dean."

 Dean barks out a laugh, tries to shrug off Cas's hands. "It ain't love." He chuckles darkly. "You'll never have a big gay wedding with me, Cas. Woodland critters at our feet in a circle singing and crap. I won't just wake up fixed by "true love's kiss" like Snow White or whatever bullshit you're thinking."

 Cas growls, shakes Dean just a little. "I _know_ that. I know every part of you. Why will you not let me do this for you?"

 Dean bats off Cas's hands and steps backward, towards the door. His expression is shuttered, eyes deep and murky like a river bottom.  
" **Listen**. For fuck's sake listen to me, Cas. There was a time you fucking did that."

 Cas frowns, "Yes, for all the good it did me."

 "Don't—" Dean waves a finger in Cas's face as he points. "Don't go there. You stubborn son of a bitch. Maybe I didn't know dick about keeping the fucking world from going to shit, but I know _me_. And I, Dean Winchester?" He glares at Cas,  
"Am telling you to back the fuck off. I don't want you as another notch on my bedpost. No matter what you think, there's no Disney ending here. So shut it and **get the fuck away from me**." He wants to shove Cas away, but his hands are shaking, trembling at his sides with the urge to not just _take_. Because he can. Because he knows it'll feel good. Cas knows him inside out. Now that Benny is gone, only Cas is left; maybe he doesn't understand Dean completely, but he's his closest friend, he's family, the only person in this world he depends on other than Sam. Their bond deserves a higher regard than what little Dean has to offer, even if Cas screws the pooch sometimes.

 "Dean..." Cas's hands envelop his, his voice is soft. "You should know by now, no matter how many times you send me away, no matter how many times I die, I will **always** come back to you."

 "Yeah, like how you stayed in Purgatory, then came back to lie to me, break my arm and run off with the angel tablet?" Dean's voice is weak as he swallows around the lump in his throat. "Screw you." He jerks his hands away, stalks off to the bathroom. He doesn't look back to see Cas's hurt expression.

***

 Dean's skin feels magnetized, every inch crying out to feel skin. His mouth is dry with the desire to to lick, suck, nibble, caress. Yeah, this had started one night when John had left Dean on his own while Sammy was in college.

 One dark day when he was halfway to blackout drunk, he was spinning his wheels on a case and out of cash. So he hadn't laughed when a good-looking guy came over and bought him a drink. He hadn't punched the guy in the face when he suggested that if Dean did him a solid in the men's bathroom he'd make it worth his while. He'd just tagged along, in a drunken blur, then got to his knees and let himself be used. Dean had swallowed his pride and swallowed dick. He'd felt disgusted with himself and dirty once the fog of alcohol wore off. No amount of beer had managed to wash off the taste, the sensation of something clinging to the back of his throat. He'd thrown up and sworn never to do it again but it kept happening. He kept not saying no. Gradually, he got better at it.

 His chest is tight, his dick is hard, and it's all he can do to not look at porn and jack-off instead of screwing up game after game of Bejeweled Blitz on his smart-phone. He'd come to crave it, went looking for dudes to jerk off and suck off at times when they didn't come to him. He'd formed a mask. A persona that made it easier to get the craving fed. It happened with women sometimes, too.

 Usually, girls were all soft and pliant, but once in awhile... Dean swallows, tries not to remember Rhonda Hurley. Sometimes, a certain kind of girl could put him under. Cas is in a whole 'nother category. More exotic by far than a girl who isn't shy about bossing him around. Cas isn't human. He's stronger, faster, has more stamina, can take and receive brutal punishment. He also probably doesn't even have a gag reflex, not being human. What would the angel do to him, if pushed?

 Castiel has watched over humans for untold millennia. Watched Dean. A shudder rips through him. Cas would study him, taking in all the minute details, every smallest bit of reaction with that unflinching stare. He'd probably watch his racing heart, the flush of his skin, the the rush of his blood, the firing of his neurons. Figure out how to kiss him, how to pleasure him, how hard to fuck him, at what angle—Dean curses and bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

 Dean sweats as he sits on the increasingly uncomfortable toilet seat, his ass going numb. It's almost enough to take his mind off the pain from his rock-hard dick pressing against the seam of his fly and from his balls being squished; they're caught between his erection and the toilet where they're trapped in his jeans.  
It's been a half hour and his angel is still waiting. Dean can feel Castiel's presence like a physical weight.

 Trying to distract himself isn't working. He gets up and walks over to the bathroom door, pounds on it. "Go _away_ , Cas! I know you're out there! I'm going to stay in here and go on a frigging hunger strike if you don't take off!"

 He can hear Cas take in a shaky breath to speak from the other side. "Dean..."

 "I said _**no**_ , asshole! You going to stop being an exception and be as huge a dick as every other goddamn angel?" Dean trembles, in rage and arousal, presses his forehead to the bathroom door. He is running a fever, chemicals spiking his blood pressure and amping up his heart-rate as his body anticipates the thrill of chasing an orgasm, his own and another's. Of holding power over someone in a way that had nothing and everything to do with hunting. To let everything he is be swallowed by the mask he becomes while feeding his addiction.  
"You dumb bastard," he whispers. "You dumb bastard, at least let me spare you this..." He fights to not turn the doorknob, to not feed the monkey on his back.

 "Dean, there is no way in which you can hurt me that I have not been already. I am willing to risk it _for you_. How do you not understand?"

  _Fuck_. Dean had hoped Cas hadn't heard that. "Because I'm poison! I'm not going to fucking argue with you, just go to your damn room!" Dean is leaking pre-come, squeezing his eyes shut, hand on the doorknob. It feels like if he doesn't put his dick in something he's going to die. The craving is killing him, shooting adrenaline all through his body, drumming his pulse rapidly as blood rushes to his dick, chest, and face. Ants are marching underneath his skin; it feels too tight as he breathes rapidly.   
"Cas, you really don't fucking get it, man. Hunting is hunting and sex is sex, alright? All those chicks I bang, they don't have a damn clue, okay? They're not on the radar. If I can't stop thinking about sex, I could fuck up. I could get killed. Get us all killed." Dean chews on his bottom lip, panting.

 He opens the door, so Cas can take him in. Take in how he's flushed, sweating, forehead and corners of his eyes thickly lined, lips twisted in a grimace, erection straining against his jeans. "I can't shut this off unless I shut it off completely, dude." Dean gestures up and down his body, horribly sure that there's a wet spot growing on the front of his pants.

 Castiel takes Dean into his arms, and strokes along the top of Dean's shoulders while he shakes in the embrace. "Cas..." he rasps, "If you give one goddamn about me, you will not push me on this." His eyes are scrunched shut. _I am so screwed_.

 Cas pushes Dean back, hands staying on his shoulders. "Open your eyes, Dean."

Dean is helpless to obey. " _Cas_ ," he whines, pierced by that laser focus stare that makes him feel like the only person in the world. Again, he wonders what it'd be like to have those eyes staring down at him while his mouth is stretched wide around Cas's dick. Dean shudders. "You're family," he mumbles through lips going numb as he trembles, sweating and shivering. "You aren't one of the things I hunt. Don't do this to me, man."

 "I can handle this. I can handle **you** , trust me Dean." Cas fucking _smoulders_.

 "That's fucking rich. You nearly "handled" me into a fucking coma last time." Dean flicks his eyes away, but they're drawn back again against his will.

 "I healed you, Dean. I healed you and I ran, because I was terrified I would hurt you again. That letting the tablet out of my sight would mean I'd be back under Naomi's control. But I'm not. I'm _fine_. I'm fine and I want to make you feel good. I wish to bring you peace; to silence the frantic workings of your mind. Please, let me...." This entire time, Castiel has been closing in, narrowing the distance between their mouths. He runs his thumb along Dean's bottom lip in a slow caress.

 "Cas, don't..."

 "Being at your side is the first and last thing I've ever wanted. I'm free now, to want things on my own. I'm tired of being treated like a child. You and I both know where this has always been going." His last words are a whisper, his chapped lips brushing against Dean's. "Give in." His mouth is on Dean's, and the latter man is motionless, save his shaking. Castiel pulls back. "Let go." He kisses Dean again, while Dean goes a bang-up job of impersonating the world's sweatiest statue. "Trust me."

 That was the hell of it, wasn't it? For all Cas has had his back, given up everything for him, he's stabbed Dean in the back as well. Hell, he'd just come back from a round of nearly stabbing Dean in the heart, fucking off to God knows where, losing the angel tablet, and showing up as _roadkill_.

 Now here he was at it again. Doing the completely wrong thing with the best intentions. Cas strokes his tongue into Dean's slack lips, and while he doesn't remember agreeing to do so, he's kissing Castiel back. His hands have fistfuls of that stupid trenchcoat he transferred from car to car while hoping his friend was alive. Keeping the fire burning, knowing Castiel was out there, somewhere. Unable to let go. Unable to accept his failure to save Cas from Purgatory, as he had saved Dean from Hell. Unable to accept that his hand had been refused.

 Dean's stomach is rebelling at all of this; the bottom dropped out sometime during their lip-lock. His vision is going a bit out of focus, and that familiar out-of-body experience that he hates to love has seeped all over his fuzzing awareness. His mouth is moving on autopilot; lips caressing lips, tongue sliding out to swipe, teeth occasionally nibbling. Dean withdraws and smiles up at Castiel (lips a small dirty twist). He tilts his head down and looks up through his eyelashes, eyes glazed with lust and utterly vacant. The words flow out of him, slow and honeyed: "Hello, beautiful. What would you like me to do to you?" Dean licks his lips, his gaze a slow pan between Cas's mouth and crotch, then back again.

 His pupils are blown open, but the angel looks confused. "...Dean?"

  _Dean's not home, leave a message._  
"Right here, darlin'." Dean closes the space again, kisses Cas's cheek. More kisses follow down his jaw, to his adam's apple, the hollow of his throat, along his left collarbone. His voice is soft and a little higher, instead of his usual harsh sarcasm.  
"What do you want?" Cas swallows. "You want me to stroke your cock until you coat my hand?" Dean kisses his throat.  
"Want me to swallow you down and eat all your come?" Cas's pulse is fluttering where Dean's lips are pressed in an open-mouthed kiss.  
"Want me to bend you over and fuck you raw?" Cas's breath hitches, and Dean sucks a hickey into his angel's neck; all teeth and harsh suction. While his mouth works, some detached part of Dean notes that Castiel is just like everyone else. No one's ever going to think he's good for anything other than this and he's never going to let them.

 With completely steady hands, not a trace of nerves, or self-consciousness in any part of him, he starts removing Cas's clothes mechanically. He makes it good, like he's always made it good; goes slow, with small kisses in-between, keeps up the dirty talk. He shoves the trenchcoat off and it pools at their feet. His hands are on the knotted draw-string of Castiel's sweatpants and he murmurs praises.

 "You're so beautiful, so fuckin' hot. Wanted you, wanted this, so damn long. Only thing keeping me from whipping it out and getting off while I kiss you, while I look at you, all hot and bothered? Is that I want to do it while sucking your dick, while you stare at me. You gonna' move a muscle? You gonna' remember to blink? Or will the sight of me on my knees in front of you...." he unknots the string, and wraps his fingers under the elastic band, drags the pants down slowly, carefully. Right down past Cas's erection, which is pale save a delicate rosy pink flush at the head.  
"With your hard cock in my mouth make you go nuts and fuck my face? You gonna' choke me? Choke the life right out of me with your big dick?"

 Castiel gasps as Dean strokes the barest touch of a fingertip up the sensitive underside of his erection. "Dean.... this...this is... _very arousing_. But... it's not you. I want **you**."

 Dean drops to his knees, takes the head of Cas's dick into his mouth. Cas's hips stutter in surprise. Single-handedly, Dean undoes his own belt, unbuttons and unzips his jeans with the ease of long practice. He flicks his tongue in rapid, soft licks, looks up at Castiel.

 His friend's eyes are nearly black, the dilated pupils swallowing the naval blue of his eyes in the dim light. His fingers are twitching at his sides, like he can't decide whether to pull Dean to him or push him away. Dean gives a gentle suck, withdrawing his mouth at an angle so his lips deliberately roll the edges of Castiel's foreskin as he pumps his dick in and out.

 Dean's eyes water, a bone-deep ache thrumming within him as he longs for fists in his hair, for praise, for curses and swears. His eyes plead with Cas as he focuses on teasing him best he knows how from doing this to get by so many years ago. _It really is like riding a bicycle_ , a distant part of him notes. Perhaps because he is not human, Castiel is largely immobile.

 Dean withdraws, speaking against Cas's slit between licks.  
"Please, get your hands in my hair. Anything is fine."

 Castiel goes completely still, shocked even further by Dean saying please for anything. Dean continues speaking.  
"Talk to me. Tell me how good my mouth feels on your dick, how hot this is." Dean kisses around the rim of Cas's dick, then licks slow stripes from root to tip and back, over and over. Starts getting frustrated with not having full access, and shoves Cas's pants down completely.

 Cas steps out of his pants, and looks at Dean, panting. His dick is leaking and he's obviously very into it, but he hauls Dean to his feet and kisses him fiercely. Makes out with him passionately, tongue clever and darting along like a small fish through fast-running river after a few minutes. Eventually the kiss breaks off.

 " _Dean_. Dean, I know you're in there. Come back." Cas strokes down the side of Dean's face, cups his jaw. Expression completely naked and earnest.

 "I never left." Dean lies, smile sultry, eyes 100% bedroom. "Speaking of leaving, let's go to my room, huh?" Something rolls in his gut, and he turns his face away.  
Wordlessly, he leads Cas by the hand through the darkened halls.  
The bunker was supposed to be his _home_. Supposed to be safe. He's never had sex here. **Never**. Now it was going to be tainted by the memory of this. Turned to shit like every other time he'd tried to make a place for himself. He was going to fuck his best friend and look at all his weapons, books, all his crap; all the stuff that makes him  _him_ and not his stupid addiction. Every time he looks at his belongings from now on he'll remember this day, long after Cas has gone.

 Dean swings the door to his room wide and cuts through the gloom with Cas in tow. The weapon he got in Purgatory gleams from the wall, blood-stained bone wrapped in shreds of dirty fabric. Castiel watches Dean, wide-eyed and intense, while Dean grabs his borrowed "Dark side of the moon" shirt and pulls it over his head. Dean strips completely bare; his clothes puddle carelessly around him while Castiel's stare burns holes into each and every inch of bared skin.

 He sits down on his memory foam bed. "C'mere." He grabs Cas by the hips and drags him in, slides a hand along his cock and then grabs his own. Addiction being fed, a lot of the edge had gone off. He was good for awhile now and probably wouldn't get off for a bit. But oh, the sweet tension; it was heady and Dean had totally switched modes. When his ass had hit the bed, the dial had been cranked all the way over and broken off. His other persona has taken over and he was back to in control/completely out of control again.

 He licks, kisses, and sucks Castiel's dick with enthusiasm, pulling out all the stops. His eyes are closed as he focuses on giving pleasure, using all the tricks he can manage with just one hand. He could do more with two, but he'd been keyed up for awhile and his stomach would start hurting, making him feel like he was going to puke, if he stopped masturbating.

 Puzzlingly, Castiel is getting less hard. _Must be getting over-sensitized. Maybe if I play with his balls a while_ —Cas's hands are in Dean's hair now, and they yank, pulling him off his dick. Dean groans with the mixture of pleasure and pain, skin flushing bright red again with the display of dominance.

" **Dean**. _**Dean**_. **_Wake_ _up_**. Come back..."

 Dean stares at Cas with glazed, unseeing eyes, lips twitching. He licks his lips, panting shallowly. "Tell me what you need. Boss me around. I want it. Want to take you apart, you fucking filthy angel. Let me do my job. I don't mind going to town on your balls and asshole if your dick needs a break."

 "Say my name, Dean. Please, say my name. I need you aware. I need you _here_ , with _me_. Say my name."

 Dean grins up at Cas, gives him his best fuck-me stare. "Castiel."

 Cas looks like he's been slapped. Looks like he's going to bolt, and Christ would that be awful. Dean hadn't even gotten to fuck so his mind and body could really float free yet. He'd be stuck masturbating for a couple of days straight if this session broke off here. Castiel lurches forward, pins Dean to the bed, his knees on either side of his friend's, his arms pinning his arms.

 "Dean..." Cas whispers, kissing his face. "Dean, please.... please, this isn't what I wanted. You're not an empty doll, Dean. This isn't you. Please… please..." Cas just kisses his face over and over. His hands come up to cup the sides of Dean's face. "Say my name, Dean." He whispers again and again, as he alternates raining kisses and pleading.

 "Castiel." The heat and weight of Cas on top of him is really turning him on. He's jerking his hips, rubbing his erection against Castiel's hard stomach. But what Cas is saying... it feels like something in him is being chipped away. Reality is hurtling closer and closer, the encroaching feelings of disgust and self-loathing starting to creep over him again. He struggles to break free, both physically and mentally.

 "This isn't doing it for you, huh? What do you say you take my dick up your ass? You just want me to boss you around like I always do. I need to fuck or be fucked or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind, Cas." A thrill runs through Dean at the idea of dirtying his angel of the lord and just like that he's totally under again. Fire runs through his veins, sears his skin, the high carrying him along with it as he's flayed by the blistering heat. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."  
Dean reaches under, smears the pre-come oozing from his tip along Castiel's anus, rubs it in with his thumb. Cas looks at him with an unreadable expression.

 "Dean...."

 _No_ , Dean decides. _That's way too much work_. "Change of plans," he smiles brightly. He rolls Castiel over and climbs up, straddling his chest while his brain floods him with the dizzying pleasure that wipes clean his loneliness, misery, stress and depression. "Say ' _ahhh_ ', angel-face."

 Cas looks vulnerable, helpless, and resigned. Dean barely takes it in, too far gone to care. He grabs a huge fistful of the angel's messy dark hair, and yanks back, exposing a long column of pale throat, and those too-pink lips open wide. Dean violates Castiel's mouth, pushing his cock-head right in. His other hand is rapidly pumping the base of his erection, one finger rubbing at his balls while another is further behind, pressing at his perineum.

 " _Nnngh_.... Castiel. Stay just like that. You feel so good, baby. Mind your pearly-whites, or you're not getting yours." Dean buries both hands into Castiel's hair and snaps his hips, pushing right to the back of the angel's throat. It's just like he's suspected; not human = no gag reflex to worry about. Dean groans with pleasure. The tension that builds up in him, making his skin feel tighter and tighter, making him feel ugly and small, is gone as he fucks Cas's face. " _Nnnngh_ , yeah.... oh darlin'. _Shit yeah_. It's so damn good."

 Tears are slowly spilling out of the corners of Cas's eyes, streaking into his ears as he submits without struggle. This was all his fault. Just another time when he was arrogant enough to think he had everything worked out. He'd thought it would be different with him. No matter how many times he'd watched Dean, it hadn't prepared him for experiencing this first-hand. His right hand reaches up and presses into where he'd branded Dean’s shoulder, although the mark is no longer there. He stares up at Dean with a pleading look as his friend crouches over him, knees pinning his shoulders down. He can't find Dean. All he can see is the horrible mask and that terrifying blankness that's made mockery of all his friend's tightly held convictions. It's a ruin of the man he thought he knew well. He's helpless as Dean ruts into his mouth, hitting the back of his vessel's throat over and over as he pushes past and inside. His nose is filled with the smell of sweat and musk as the short pubic hairs there brush past on each stroke. He doesn't know what to do. Even when it'd become obvious that finding God was the only way to stop the apocalypse, he hadn't felt this at a loss.

 Dean is floating, free, as the itch, that horrible hunger that slowly grinds him down until sex is all he can think about, eases off. He feels buoyant, drunk. Good. Really, really good. He's about to pop. The pleasure pooling in his belly— making his balls tingle, snaking down his thighs— is cresting higher and higher. Saliva floods his mouth, and he swallows, licks his lips. He stops a bit and just grinds his pubic bone into Cas's face. Enjoys the scrape of 5 o'clock shadow on his sensitive balls. Pauses just long enough so he can get enough control to warn him. "Gonna' come, Castiel. Gonna' blow my load right down your throat. You're going to take it like a good soldier, swallow it all right down. Give my dick a nice hard suck. _Aren't you_?"

 Castiel makes a miserable noise of assent. Dean seems to know he doesn't really need to breathe and that what he's demanding is easily done. Some part of his clever, ingenious friend is still in there, even now, and it makes him feel sick in a way he hasn't since the Leviathan were trying to burst out of him.

 Dean resumes pistoning his dick in and out of Cas's mouth and throat; feels his tongue curling, hears the reedy noise of him sucking through a blocked throat— feels that oh-so-sweet pressure that sends frisson through every nerve of his body.  
" _Ooohhh yeah_ ," he groans, lower body freezing in place as his hands shove Castiel's face back into his pubic bone. The bolt of pleasure nearly makes him black out as he shoots his load down the angel's throat. Dean feels a press of lips as Castiel swallows and moans as the extra pressure of being swallowed around drags another weaker wave of pleasure from him. He withdraws his dick a little and pets Castiel's hair. Cas keeps sucking until every drop is rung out and he shudders from over-stimulation.

 "Mmm, baby boy, you did good." Dean murmurs, withdrawing completely. He's still feeling high, buzzed. Not soaring anymore, but drunk nonetheless as he's free from the weight of craving. His brain is soaking in dopamine and oxytocin, the reward it gives itself for chasing the high. He climbs down, settling on top of Castiel. He kisses his friend slowly, softly, tender on his bruised swollen lips.  
He'd known the angel could take it and he was feeling generous right now. He tastes the salt of tears mingled with his own come as he licks into the angel's mouth. Cas kisses him back and they curl up together. Dean strokes slowly down over Cas's ribs and hips, buzzing, light. He'll crash soon. He pushes the knowledge aside, lets his body convey how he really feels while he's still loose and unashamed.

 "Beautiful. You're so beautiful, Cas. Too good for me. You deserve better." Dean kisses Castiel tenderly, passionately, not letting the angel speak. He finds Cas's hands and they grab on tightly; he pushes them up over his head as the kiss turns scorching hot. Dean can feel Cas's penis as a hard line against his hip. The angel rubs against Dean, moaning into his mouth.

 "Oh hey, got a present for me? Want me to take care of that?"

 Castiel shakes his head furiously, kisses Dean like he doesn't need air as their mouths slide together. Dean's dick gives an interested twitch, and his brow furrows as he mentally scowls at it.

 " _Dean_. Dean I," Cas gets out as Dean is taking very small, almost minute breaks for air in-between kisses.

 " _Shhh_. Shh, Cas. I got you."

 "No. _Dean_. Dean I'm _sorry_."

 Dean growls, shoves Castiel's hands down into the mattress. A wave of self-loathing crests over him; an inevitable cascade that rushes forward and drags him under like riptide pulled by the moon's inescapable leash.

 "Shut-up. Just shut-up." He shoves Cas away and down as he rolls over and sits up. "We're done. Listen to me like you didn't before, and get the fuck out."  
Dean sits on the edge of the bed. His head is suddenly pounding, a wave of nausea clamping his guts.

 "I didn't know." Castiel's voice is low under him, more gravelly than usual. Probably from having his airway abused by Dean's dick.

"Well la-di-freakin'-dah. No fucking **shit** , Sherlock. You think that's any kind of excuse?" Dean stares at the wall, presses a hand to his stomach.

"No. I'm sorry, Dean."

 _There's that word again_ , sorry. Dean's stomach turns over. "You fucking badgered me and backed me into a corner until you got what you wanted, and now you're **sorry**? Buyer's remorse, huh? Too fucking bad."

 "Dean—" Cas sits up and gently places his hand back on his shoulder.

 Dean shrugs it off. " _ **Out**_." _Cas is_ sorry _. Cas is disgusted,_ sorry _he ever saw this. Of course he fucking is_. Cas tries to hold him. Dean wrestles his way out of it, elbows Cas in the face as he jumps free of the bed.

 "Don't. Don't make me draw a banishing sigil, Cas. For the very last time, **get the fuck out of my room**." _What the hell is happening, Cas got what he wanted and now he's still pushing for more? What does he freakin'  think I have left to give?_

 Cas surges to his feet, gets right in his face, tries to put him in another hold. "Dean, _**listen**_ , I—"

Dean whips around, reverses the hold, puts his hand over Cas's mouth. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but I'm all out of fucks to give. Now **go**."

" ** _No_.** " Cas reverses the hold back on Dean, pins him to the doorframe. Dean brings his wrists back up under and jabs two fingers right in the soft area under the breast-bone. Cas gasps and lets go, holds a hand to his gut. Still, he advances, relentless on Dean again, steel in his gaze.

 "You got what you wanted. It was just like I said and you didn't believe me, you colossal fucking dick. I swear to Christ Cas, you try to touch me one more time, I'm gonna' see if that blade from Purgatory, right over there, can take the head off a goddamn angel." Dean shoves Cas, pushes him out past the doorway.

 In his shock, the angel sprawls, naked ass hitting the cold hard floor. Cas looks up at him, wounded, blue eyes huge and sad. Dean swallows heavily, jaw working, muscle twitching in his neck. His eyes skitter over everything except the fallen angel. He grabs his clothes up off the floor and steps around Cas.

 "You're the door after next door. You ever again get any bright ideas about knowing better than me? Don't want to fucking hear ‘em. _You can just tie your own damn noose and hang_." He heads back to the bathroom. He desperately needs a shower. He's going to shower and take the fuck off, and never hear from Castiel again. He's not sure which of them he's more pissed off at.

 The shower Dean takes is lukewarm; it sort of feels like being spit on. Sighing and leaning into the tile, he's carefully not thinking anything as water pelts his face, taking any sign of tears with it. He misses having a purpose. Misses the clean, harsh pleasure of the kill, the hunt, Benny and Cas at his back in Purgatory. He can't go back. Anymore than he can get in the Impala and just go wherever the road takes him. Sam needs him.


End file.
